


Are You Married, Mr Morse?

by Fitzrove



Series: Death of a Bachelor [2]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Jakes Didn't Leave, Desk Sex, Domestic Fluff, Episode: s05e06 Icarus, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, In a way, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sexual Roleplay, Teacher Morse, Undercover, and nobody dies ok, based loosely on that, i just want my boys to be happy, in that morse went to the school alone, just had to mention that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 20:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18581923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzrove/pseuds/Fitzrove
Summary: When DS Jakes turns up to interrogate Mr Morse, the newest addition to Coldwater boarding school's staff, headmaster John Pearce thinks nothing of it, even giving him permission to rough him up a bit to get information out. After all, it's in everyone's best interests to cooperate with the police, and one stubborn teacher shouldn't ruin an important investigation.The fact that Mr Morse has a ring on his finger a couple of days after that interrogation is most definitely a coincidence.





	1. Chapter 1

John Pearce, the headmaster at Coldwater School, was used to working with the police. Teenage boys were hardly the most well-behaved of people, and when put into a closed-off environment like a boarding school, some always ended up becoming troublemakers. They’d even had one or two scandals involving their staff during the twenty years John had been headmaster, and even then, he’d been more than happy to help with any inquiries the officers thought important. After all, it was their best chance of getting out the information needed to put dangerous people behind bars, where they belonged. The policeman was your friend. That was what he’d been told as a boy, that was what he told the boys whenever he had the chance, and he truly believed it each time.

But it was definitely a surprise when the dark-browed detective sergeant turned up at his office, his solemn posture hiding the bravado he’d sported when the officers from Cowley had first arrived at the school to talk with people. They’d been quick to go through the teachers who they’d believed to have known something about the case at hand, but there was one exception.

“Ah, good afternoon, Sergeant”, John said, as the fellow with the dark brows came through the door. He tried desperately to remember his name, but to no avail. (Something starting with G? J?)

“Any success with Mr Morse?”

Red-haired, lanky, newly arrived Mr Morse. He’d proven to be… difficult to work with, according to the sergeant. ( _Jakes_! That was it.)

Most of the teachers had let the police know everything they wanted to know, but not Morse. To be honest, John was flabbergasted at his stubbornness before the _law_ , for God’s sake.

Of course, during the two months he’d been a part of the teaching staff, Morse had shown more than a bit of his prickly personality to students and colleagues alike. He was still _polite_ and considerate, did his job like he was supposed to, even though he did sometimes seem a little too curious for his own good. Acutely sharp as well, definitely, in more senses than one.

“Still not talking”, DS Jakes said, fumbling with his pocket before catching himself and looking at John as if asking for permission. John gave him a slight nod - he smoked a pipe in his office himself sometimes, so granting a policeman some stress relief in the middle of a long day of work would be alright as well. Jakes didn’t smile, but pulled out a lighter and nodded solemnly regardless. He took a moment to just stand still and take a long drag out of the cigarette.

“I would’ve rather avoided it coming to this, but it’s getting clear that I might need to… rough him up a bit. Where do you stand on that, sir?”

John rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward and putting his hands under his chin, like he often did while he was thinking about something.

He didn’t believe in corporal punishment as fervently as some of the teachers working under him seemed to, but he believed it to be a necessary evil. Hell, he’d even approved of its usage in his school, in a couple of difficult cases, when some of the boys had been dangerously close to becoming outright delinquents. But this was a grown man they were talking about, a member of staff. It was _Morse_ , with his hunched shoulders and restrained expressions. But perhaps rough situations required rough solutions.

“Well, it’s police business, so the decision would be yours, Sergeant Jakes”, John said. Jakes took a drag out of his cigarette, his posture relaxing a bit. That was good - if John could help the police solve the case in any way, all the better. Having a drawn-out investigation take place on school grounds, not to mention involve a member of his staff, probably wouldn’t make the board very happy.

“I’d have to do it off the books”, Jakes said. “Nothing too bad, just something to intimidate him a little. He’s a… character, I’ve come to find out.”

“That he is”, John said. “If it makes any difference, you have my leave, Sergeant. You’re welcome to implement whatever protocol you have for difficult cases, first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Would you have some kind of space for that, sir?” Jakes asked. “Needs to be somewhere where nobody will hear. For his sake. It’s one thing to get information out of a man and another to humiliate him. Wouldn’t be good for morale.”

“You’re right, the boys would never let that go”, John muttered. “The west wing has a few empty classrooms, behind the old library. I’ll be glad to show you tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, sir”, Jakes said. After a nod, he turned to walk back out the door. That was when John remembered something.

“Oh, Sergeant, one more thing”, he said. Jakes stopped in his tracks, turning to look back at him.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’d like to supervise the interrogation“, John said. “Morse’s working for me, after all. I need him back on teaching duty as soon as possible.”

Jakes looked at him for a moment, contemplating something. John waited. It was the least he could ask for. The sergeant seemed like a very reasonable man, but you could never be too sure. He didn’t want a teacher working under him to get _hurt_ because of his stubbornness.

“Alright, sir”, Jakes said. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Meet you at nine, then, sergeant”, John said. “Has Mr Morse been informed?”

“I’m on my way to do that, sir”, Jakes said. John nodded, and Jakes walked out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

/ / /

 

The next morning at nine o’clock, John met DS Jakes at the main door. He’d sent the school secretary to fetch Mr Morse, and sure enough, she brought him to them quickly. Thanks to the heads-up Jakes had given him, John had managed to secure a substitute to handle all of Mr Morse’s classes for the day. A criminal investigation was important, but it wasn’t _so_ important that they could neglect the boys’ education. So Mr Harrison it was, and he was under strict instructions not to answer any specific questions about where Mr Morse was, other than tell the boys that it was a personal matter. If it was off the books like Jakes said, the fewer people knew, the better. As long as the police could get the information they needed, in one way or another, the official rules could be bent a bit. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

“Good morning”, Morse said. He was looking a bit flustered, cheeks red in the chilly morning air. Had probably left in a hurry. Even if Morse _could_ sometimes be a very difficult person, he was punctual, and John valued that greatly in a member of his staff.

“Morning, Mr Morse”, John said. “I take that you remember DS Jakes, from yesterday? He's going to ask you some more questions.”

“I see”, Morse said, the same look of not-quite-open irritation on his face that he often got when dealing with people he thought unpleasant. He turned to look at Jakes.

“I told you before. I don't really know anything about the intruder, if there's been one. I've only been here for two months.”

His tone matched the iciness of the weather well, and John adjusted the lapels of his coat to shield himself from it. He had dealt with a lot of difficult cases over the years, adults and schoolboys alike. It came with the profession, what with all the parents and teachers and folks from the Department for Education running about.

But boy, was John glad that Jakes was the one whose job it was to get information out of Morse. He would've gone mad. The man clearly wasn't an easy case to crack, if dealing with him _cordially_ was already like this. No respect for the authority of law enforcement.

“Thanks, Mr Morse, but I'll be the judge of that”, Jakes said. Morse almost _scoffed_ , and Jakes gave him a sharp look, blowing smoke out.

“Shall we go?” John offered. Jakes nodded, and after a moment of hesitation, Morse shoved his hands in his pockets and followed them.

The outside entrance to the west wing was rarely used, but going around the main hall and opening it with the skeleton key John carried was better than wandering through the most crowded school hallways with a police detective and Morse in tow. They didn't want to start any rumours, and avoiding them was a challenge in and of itself - the student body loved to gossip, but sometimes the teachers seemed to be even worse.

“Where are we going?” Morse asked, looking at John with suspicion in his eyes. “Surely J- officer Jakes could've talked with me in an office. I would've been more than happy to -”

“What do you know about police procedures, Mr Morse?” Jakes asked. “The last time I checked, English teachers weren't experts in detective work.”

John gave Morse a stern look, and the man had the nerve to glare back before turning his eyes to the ground, seething.

Of course he was proud to a fault, many teachers were, but there was a time and place for everything. The attitude that made one's presence commanding enough to hold the attention of a full classroom was hardly suitable for dealing with sensitive matters, especially _possible crimes that one wasn't willing to speak about_. John was honestly getting a bit tired of how sharp Morse was acting, but he knew better than to start chastising him in front of Jakes. It wasn’t the time and place, and he knew when to step back and let someone else exercise their authority in the way they saw fit.

“Follow me. The old library would be just up the stairs”, John said as he let Morse and Jakes in.

The west wing was rarely used, as they hadn’t had enough classes going to have need for it in a decade or so. John found himself longing for the good old days, but there was no denying that the old library was sadly small compared to the new one.

“Here we are”, he told them when they’d walked past the library, opening the door to classroom W48. “After you, Mr Morse, Sergeant.”

“Sit down”, Jakes said, after pushing two desks together to make a more convincing table. Morse eyed him warily.

“Do I have to tell you twice?” Jakes asked. “Things aren’t looking good for you. I believe you’ve already figured out why we’re not at the police station, or an office, or anywhere where people might hear us. Your teacher brain should be sharp enough for that.”

Morse didn’t say anything, but sat down. It looked ridiculous, having a teacher in a student’s seat and place. The dust floating around in the room made John sneeze, and both Morse and Jakes turned to look at him.

“J- Officer! Is he _staying_?” Morse asked, voice alarmed. John frowned and crossed his arms, back against the wall. Morse should’ve been glad for his supervision, honestly.

Jakes leaned forward, hands on the makeshift table, looking at Morse from under his thick brows.

“He’s supervising. Headmaster Pearce is your superior, Mr Morse”, Jakes said. “He wanted to make sure I won’t go too… hard on you.”

Morse opened his mouth again as if to argue, but shut it soon after. Jakes raised an eyebrow.

“Now, tell me. What were you doing on the morning of October 3rd?”

“Teaching”, Morse said, obviously irritated. “We were going through some Shakespeare again, Othello. None of the boys wanted to read Desdemona’s lines, so I had to choose someone and tell him to do it.”

“And what -”

“Sergeant, I know the name might be somewhat difficult to spell”, Morse said. “Shall I write it on the board for you?”

“If you would be so kind”, Jakes said, but there was a dangerously steel-like, rusted edge to his voice that made John flinch back a little. He didn’t like where the situation was going, but so far, there hadn’t been any indication that Morse couldn’t take it.

Morse got up from his chair, walking to the blackboard. Jakes followed him, and he didn’t have time to pick up a piece of chalk before Jakes had shoved him back-first against the wall. Morse let out a pained yelp.

“Listen up”, Jakes said. “If you’re playing a game to protect someone, better stop it at once and spit everything out. I can make this a very bad experience for you.”

“I told you before, I’m not hiding anything”, Morse said, his eyes wide, but there was still a stubbornly challenging edge to his voice.

“Believe me, there’s nothing useful I can tell you that you haven’t heard a dozen times from my colleagues already. It would be in everyone’s best interests if you just let me go do my _work_.”

Jakes was silent for a moment, not stepping back. John was glad he couldn’t see the detective’s face. He didn’t want to know how he was staring at Morse.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to go into the next room, Headmaster”, Jakes said, forcibly calm, turning his head. Morse was still staring at the detective defiantly, cheeks burning red and a blue-hot fire blazing in his eyes. The man was almost _trembling_ , and John felt bad for him. But if it was the only way, it was the right way, and that was the end of that.

“Can’t give out information about the investigation to outsiders”, said Jakes, when John didn’t realise to move right away.

“Oh. Of course”, John said. Jakes nodded stiffly at him, and he walked out of the classroom. He heard Jakes follow him in hurried steps.

“Sit back down, Mr Morse”, Jakes said, and judging by the sounds, Morse obeyed breathlessly. John felt like he was almost ushered out the door in a haste - even the lock clicked shut after the door had closed behind him. Alright, then.

/ / /

John spent the next hour and a half or so in the old library. There were still a couple of sofas in there, and the school’s collection was so big that some of the books that were left untouched more often than not were left to gather dust in its shelves. He picked up something written by one of the less-famous Romantic poets and sat down to read.

He was interrupted several times. The first time was when he heard the leg of a table or desk thump against the floor, then the sound of something hitting a wall. It only took a couple minutes after that before he first heard Morse scream. The sound wasn’t terribly loud, but it sounded like it came all the way from his gut, like it was wrenched from him so thoroughly that it made his whole body arch. John was glad - whatever was happening would’ve probably been ugly to look at, even though Jakes undoubtedly knew what he was doing.

Towards the end, there were a lot of smaller whimpers, but also pleading, panting howls. He couldn’t make out most of the words, but he did manage to hear the ones that were repeated over and over. _Yes_ and _Peter_. It was a bit troublesome, to be honest, but it sounded like there was finally progress being made with the investigation, and that couldn’t have been anything but good.

DS Jakes eventually emerged from the classroom, after there had been at least a quarter hour of silence. John hadn’t been able to hear speech, just the loudest, out of the ordinary sounds, which was probably the whole point.

“How’d it go?” he asked, when DS Jakes reached into his pocket to pull out a cigarette and a lighter with slightly shaky hands. He wasn’t wearing his jacket, having instead flung it over his shoulder, and his slicked-back hair wasn’t as slicked back as it had been before.

“Got what I wanted”, Jakes said, taking a drag out of the cigarette. “He was very helpful.”

“Glad to hear”, John said. “I take that this will be the end of this investigation?”  
“Well, at least my inquiries at the school”, Jakes said. “Now that the whole staff has been interviewed, there’s no need to keep interrupting the schoolwork. I know where to take this from here.”

“Good, good”, John said.

They spent a moment in silence, Jakes smoking, John pretending to read.

“Who’s Peter?” John finally asked. He couldn’t help it. Hearing that name shouted over and over had been enough to spark his interest. At least he could be sure it wasn’t any of their boys - funnily enough, the school had been lacking both Peters and Johns for the last couple of years, apart from himself, of course.

“I’m afraid I can’t share that information at this point. Has to do with the investigation. I’m sure you’ll understand”, Jakes said, smoothing his hair back into place. He seemed a bit sweaty, but otherwise fine. Morse probably hadn’t put up too much of a fight, then. It was good that the man had some sense of self-preservation left.

“Oh, right. Apologies”, John said. After a pause, he looked at Jakes, who’d put his jacket back on.

“Shall I show you out?” he asked. He wasn’t immune to hearing someone cry out in pain, even if it was for a good cause, so he needed some fresh air.

“Thank you very much, sir, but I’ll find the way. You better go and check if Mr Morse is alright”, Jakes said. “Just in case. I doubt he’d take too kindly to me after that.”

John frowned a bit, but nodded.

“Alright. I’ll give him the day off today, have someone make sure he gets to his house safely.”

“Thank you, sir. For your help and everything else.”

They shook hands, and then Jakes was on his way. John drew in a long breath, a little afraid of what he might see, but got up from the sofa to enter the classroom anyway.

Morse was sitting behind the makeshift interrogation desk again, eyes a bit glassy. His face seemed alright. No visible bruises, at least, which was good - John could hardly let his staff teach if they looked like they'd been in a pub fight. But Morse looked fine, except for the fact that his hair seemed to be a mess, his lips looked sore - not busted, by any means, but red and swollen - and he wasn't wearing his jacket.

Hearing John close the door made Morse flinch and look up. He looked absolutely mortified at seeing him, which was worrying.

“Christ, Mr Morse, are you alright?” John asked, approaching slowly as he would a skittish animal. Morse scrambled up from his seat.

“No, I mean - yes!” Morse barked out. “I just thought that… you were someone else.”

“DS Jakes? No, he left. For good, I'd imagine.”

Morse was avoiding his gaze, and after a moment of terribly uncomfortable silence, he stumbled across the room to grab his jacket. He seemed to be walking with a bit of a limp.

“I must be on my way, sir. I have to get back to -”

“No, Morse, wait. First of all, you have the day off. Mr Harrison is handling your classes for you.”

Morse let out a long sigh, rubbing his forehead. He seemed sweaty too, just like Jakes had, which lead John to believe that there _had_ been a bit of a fight, after all. Oh no.

“Are you hurt?” John asked.

“No”, Morse said. “I just… it’s not like this happens every day. Getting dragged into police business.”

The answer was convincing enough, so John nodded and left for his office, a bit puzzled, but glad to see that Morse was alright. He forgot about the whole incident soon enough - there was paperwork to file, and he was expecting a call from their long-term rival, the neighbouring school of Somerset Hall. To be precise, its headmaster. There was a county-wide debate competition coming up, and even though John didn’t want to admit it, teaming up with them was probably their best bet at victory. God knew that they were short on eloquent boys at Coldwater.

He saw Morse again later that day, passed him while he was walking across the courtyard, probably to fetch something from the library. Even when Morse had the day off, he was reading, looking through the less-known classics to go above and beyond the syllabus at times. He really was a good teacher, inspired, and John was glad to see the matter with the police resolved.

Morse did have a limp, still, and when he wrapped his coat tighter around him, John saw his sleeve slip down and reveal a string of bruises on his wrist. But he didn’t seem bothered by it, or at least tried to look like he wasn’t.

 

/ / /  


The next time anything out of the ordinary came up, it was a couple of days later. Morse just turned up supervising lunch, wearing a simple metal ring on his right ring finger. John probably wouldn’t have noticed it, had Mr Oaks not asked Morse about it at the teacher’s table.

“Is that a ring on your finger? Didn’t even realise you had a girl”, Mr Oaks said. “Congratulations.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s not like that. Just an old heirloom”, Morse said. “From my great uncle.”

But he was still awfully sunny and grinning for the rest of the week, and John ended up never finding out why.

Some things hidden deep under the leafy covers that the nearby forest had rained on the ground came into light a month later, and it was revealed that Morse wasn’t a teacher at all, but a police officer. A detective, sent to look into some of the troublemaking boys at school, and the things he’d found out resulted in a teacher getting arrested. John felt stupid for not having suspected a thing, but he didn’t think much of it. At the very least, he was glad that he could finally hire a real teacher - _two_ , actually - and get back to ordinary business. No more secrets, except the ones he wanted to keep himself.

However, there was one more thing that he couldn’t quite make sense of.

John spotted DS Jakes once again, for one last time, as he came to pick up _DS Morse_ in a black Jaguar. As he helped Morse put his suitcases in the boot, the crisp autumn sun was reflected off his right hand, a metal band similar to Morse’s glinting in the sunlight.

Maybe it was some kind of copper thing, or a secret brotherhood of sorts. John would never know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interrogation from Morse's point of view.

The door slammed shut, and Peter gave him a hungry look.

"What were you _thinking_ ”, Morse snapped. His face and neck were on fire, and Peter was _smirking_ , slowly taking off his jacket. It was almost _sensual_ , the way he knew exactly where Morse’s eyes were, throwing his head back and stretching his neck out as he let the jacket fall to the floor. It was ridiculous, and it shouldn’t have made Morse’s mouth dry and heart race and _definitely_ shouldn’t have forced him to press his legs together, gripping the table to prevent Peter from seeing how his hands were shaking, but it just so happened it did.

“Not my fault your boss is a nosy bastard”, Peter muttered, walking over and proceeding to sit on the desk, right in front of Morse’s face. “Got rid of him quick enough, don’t you think?”

“Could’ve been faster”, Morse said. “I was mortified. At least you didn’t outright hit me to convince him.”

He was getting _way_ too hot under his collar, especially since he could feel the warmth radiating off Peter, could smell his cologne and the smoke and ash underneath. Peter noticed, leaning over the desk to undo the topmost buttons of his shirt. Morse sighed, enjoying the feeling of Peter’s hands on him for the first time in what felt like forever. He’d missed them, their needy, lean strength, and he’d missed _Peter._

“We’d better get to the interrogation, Mr Morse”, Peter said. “You’ve been terribly uncooperative with the police so far. ”

“What do you want me to tell you?” Morse asked. Peter was so close, yet so far, so Morse reached towards him to take his suspenders off his shoulders. That made Peter’s mouth fall open, and Morse smiled at that. A taste of his own medicine served him right.

“Confess”, Peter said. “You’ve seduced a police officer on duty. It _should_ be a crime to look like you do. You can’t even swallow without looking like you need it hard.”

“Not my fault the officer in question can’t keep it in his pants”, Morse hissed. Peter simply grinned.

“I thought you’d be difficult”, Peter said. “That’s why we’re here, after all. Let’s see how much you can take before breaking down.”

Morse stood up, wrapping his arms around Peter and pulling him against his chest to kiss him. Peter groaned at that, low and rough, and the way he pressed closer to Morse made him moan as well.

 

“Help me push this against the wall”, Peter said, tapping the desk with his hand. “I’ll need it to wring that sweet, sweet truth out of you.”

“Get up first”, Morse muttered, face buried in the hot bare skin between Peter’s neck and shoulder. Peter just hummed, hands against Morse’s chest.

“You’re in no position to give orders, Morse”, Peter said, pushing him away and slipping down from the desk. He was even closer all of a sudden, and Morse could _feel_ how hard he was, but Peter still didn’t give Morse anything but a slap on the arse before jerking his head towards the wall.

They pushed the desks next to the wall, and after a second, Peter pushed Morse against it as well while they were at it. Before he knew it, he’d ended up on the desk, shirt open and face probably flushed red.

“Trousers off, quick”, Peter said, hands at Morse’s belt already. “Your bloody headmaster is going to think I’m not doing my job if I don’t make you scream.”

“Jesus, Peter”, Morse said, and something in the way he managed to look at Peter made him stop tugging his belt open and lean closer to press kisses up his neck. “Jesus Christ.”

They finally got his trousers and pants off. The shirt stayed on, and so did his bloody _shoes_. He became acutely aware of it when Peter grabbed his thighs to get them spread, making him lift his feet up on the table as well.  
Peter undid his fly and fumbled with the small jar of vaseline he'd taken out of his pocket for a second. (It was _indecent_ , for Peter to be carrying that, for him to have made plans in advance about shagging Morse.)  
As he pushed in, Morse drew in a long breath. It had been a while, and he _had_ thought of Peter on a couple of nights, seriously considered calling him just to hear his voice. But staying undercover was more important, and they both knew that.  

The pace was ruthless from the start. Morse liked the rough treatment, liked the way Peter grabbed his wrists and held down, made his back hit the wall with each thrust. Before, the room had smelled of dust and ink and old wood, but now, Morse couldn’t really focus on anything but the way Peter was panting against him, the too-strong cologne overwhelming his senses, his lips on Morse’s neck and ear and lips, over and over.

The first time Morse shouted was when Peter brought his hand down and grabbed a good hold of his thigh, getting deeper than he had before, making Morse’s shoulders hit the wall in an almost painful thud. That made Peter smile, and Morse was glad for the fact that he was caught between Peter, the desk and the wall. Would’ve gone weak in the knees otherwise, toppled right over.

“You let the other teachers have you like this?” Peter asked. His hand was getting dangerously close to Morse’s cock, not quite touching, but not _not_ touching, either.

“Get on your knees for the schoolboys when they tell you it’d suit you better than teaching?”

“ _No_ ”, Morse said. His mouth was dry, he would’ve done _anything_ to get Peter to stop talking, to shut his filthy mouth before someone would _hear them_. Peter pushed against him once more, probably to get him to stop squirming, and the way it lit up each nerve in Morse’s body made him cry out.

“Why?” Peter asked. “Must be lonely for you, to spend each night alone with just dusty books and opera to keep you company.”

“Fuck the police and all, you see”, Morse said, breaking free from the hold Peter had of his other wrist to pull at his hair. Peter’s jaw dropped, and Morse chuckled at his dumbfounded expression.

“Bloody hell, Morse”, Peter sputtered, burying his face in Morse’s neck again, kissing him. “Go on, then, since you’re so sure about it. Make some noise for me. _And say that again_.”

“Give me a reason to, and I might”, Morse said, wrapping his hands around Peter’s shoulders. “ _Fuck me,_ Peter.”

Peter gritted his teeth at that, but didn’t disappoint. Morse’s laughter turned into stuttering gasps, then breathless groans, and then it was just an outright wanton wail each time Peter hit the right spot. It was pain, too, from the way he kept bumping into the hard surfaces of the wall and desk, but he couldn’t really focus on that when he literally couldn’t keep a thought together for more than a second at a time.

“Come on”, Peter said, breathless and clearly nearing the edge. He put his hands on Morse's waist, to get him to stay still as he drove his hips home. “Let's hear the confession.”

“You can't expect me to -” Morse started, but Peter shut him up with a kiss.

“Two days ago, when you saw me, you wanted me. Correct?”

“ _Yes_ ”, Morse managed to say, voice strained. He _had_. When he’d just happened to look out the classroom window as a very familiar figure walked across the courtyard, he hadn't believed his eyes. However, when the headmaster had come knocking on the classroom door just as he was finishing a lesson, his heart had jumped.

Peter had had to pretend not to know him, of course, introducing himself as DS Jakes, Thames Valley Police, but that hadn't stopped him from looking at Morse like a piece of meat or making a show out of smoking or _putting his hand on his shoulder as he led him out of a room_. Jesus Christ.

Peter simply smiled.

“I thought so”, Peter said. “Glad to get that out of you at last.”

Morse swallowed, grabbing onto Peter's shoulders to let him get real close, to have Peter’s hips flush against his.

“Bet you've touched yourself and thought of me during these past two months, you bloody wanker”, Peter said. Morse felt a burning sensation climb up to his ears.

“Just because you've done it, doesn't mean everyone has”, Morse panted out. Peter shook his head, and Morse let out a frustrated sigh - alright, maybe his poker face _wasn't_ the best _while_ _he was shagging someone_ \- before leaning back on the desk to let Peter press yet another long kiss on his neck.

“ _Yes”,_ Morse muttered. “Is that what you want me to say? Turned a record on and thought of your hands on me. Maybe once or twice.”

“Really missed me that bad?” Peter asked. Without any warning, he lifted his hands to Morse's hair and pulled, hard.

“ _Yes”,_ Morse yelped. “Yes, Peter, yes.”

“Bloody fucking hell, Morse”, Peter hissed. “Get your bloody legs on my shoulders, _now_.”

Morse did, rather inelegantly, but managed it all the same. Peter held on to his calves as he thoroughly railed him, making him cry out his name.

“You like it this way”, Peter said, at some point. “Wouldn't probably care if that bloody headmaster of yours came barging in. You're too far gone for that.”

“ _Peter”,_ Morse keened out. “God, _yes_.”  
It didn't take that long for them both to finish, Morse with Peter’s name still on his lips, his throat almost hoarse from all the begging, Peter with his face buried in the crook of Morse’s neck. It felt _good,_ to be held close and looked after, and Peter seemed to agree, judging by the way he kept whispering as much in Morse’s ear. It was slurred and unclear, the words more hot and wet than anything coherent, but it was as good a way to spend the aftershocks as any.

Peter stayed inside him for an uncomfortably long time, and eventually Morse had to push him away. His legs were getting stiff.

There weren't really any comfortable alternatives, so after Peter had helped Morse off the desk, they just sat on the floor.

“Jesus Christ, Peter. I can't believe I have to put up with this”, Morse muttered, but he had to hold back a smile anyway. Peter chuckled.

“How do you think my cock feels”, Peter said, and the crassness of it made Morse's eyebrows climb up. “You've been here for _two months_. Been driving me crazy. Can't be healthy for a man to go without for so long.”

“Oh, so you like my arse so well that you couldn't even manage to find a girl to warm your bed?” Morse said, and was absolutely _delighted_ when it made Peter look at him, eyes wide, a pink flush spreading over his sharp nose and cheeks.

“Hey, nobody’s saying I _couldn’t_ ”, Peter said. “It’s just that I… didn’t want to. I’ve got other things on my mind.”

“If you say so”, Morse said. Peter just scoffed, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on his shoulder. Alright, then. It _was_ getting cold, with the trousers he wasn’t wearing and all, and he realised he actually quite liked Peter’s clinginess. Had missed it, even, the way he liked to tangle himself up with Morse until neither of them were entirely sure where one ended and the other began.

“You know what, Morse?” Peter asked softly. Morse turned his head a bit to press a wet kiss on Peter's cheek.

“Mmh”, Morse said, for lack of anything better. Peter rubbed his back gently, slowly moving to touch Morse's upper arm, then his shoulder.

“I love you”, Peter said. “A bloody catch you are.”

This time, it was _Morse_ who got wide-eyed. He pulled back to look at Peter, to make sure he was being serious. His dark brows were a bit furrowed, his mouth a straight line, and he was looking deep in Morse's eyes with his hand on his shoulder.

Well, look at that. Morse’s face was burning, a fiery hot feeling, and he was probably blushing up to his bloody forehead. Jesus Christ.

“... so you don't care that there’s plenty of other fish in the sea?” Morse blurted out. “ _I_ will do?”

“Yeah”, Peter said. “Here we are. Might as well admit it to you.”

Morse was silent for a moment, trying to blink away the sudden burning in his eyes. Peter smiled a little, gently lifting his chin up, and their lips met yet again. It didn’t make swallowing the tight worry in his throat any easier, but it did make him happy, to see Peter’s smile and to smile back at him.

“I love you too”, Morse said. “But I still can’t believe you went through with this. What does Thursday think you’re doing right now?”

Peter let out a relieved laugh, the worried crease melting away from his forehead. Morse raised an eyebrow, but let Peter pull him even closer and press him against his chest anyway.

“‘s my case”, Peter said. “I can do what I want with it.”

“I’m pretty sure he was here two days ago”, Morse said. “And so was Strange, if I recall correctly.”

“Alright, alright. Maybe the _case_ is not just my case, but _you_ definitely are”, Peter said.

It took Morse a while to understand what Peter was saying, as the sentence was so confusingly simple. When he finally did, he rolled his eyes.

“Peter, that’s so stupid. I can’t believe you made it sound sweet.”

“I’ve got my moments”, Peter said. “It's my day off. Thought you'd like the company.”

“Oh, I do”, Morse said, and the way Peter positively _beamed_ at that was enough to make him want to hold him, to listen to his heartbeat and slow, even breaths, to press his face and hands against Peter's chest and let him stroke his hair. And so Morse did.

At some point in time, Peter looked deep into Morse’s eyes. Morse lifted his head to look back and saw the small, sly smile on Peter's face, and after a second their embrace turned into a deep kiss, right there on the floor. It seemed like nothing was enough for Peter - at first, it was just a kiss, but then Peter’s hands were on Morse, pulling him up and pushing him against the wall, and before long, he was climbing in Morse’s lap and pulling at his hair.

“Where do you want me to have you?” Peter said, voice low against his cheek, his hands on Morse’s hips, fingers digging into bare skin.

“Here, now”, Morse breathed out, reaching down to open Peter’s fly again, to take him into his hand. “Let the headmaster hear you knock me about.”

They started out on the floor, but finished with Morse bent over the desk, gasping for air and trying to keep himself from collapsing. His voice was hoarse from the countless times he'd hissed and pleaded for Peter to go faster, get closer, have him harder.

“Jesus Christ”, Morse mumbled, as Peter pulled out and pulled Morse up to kiss him, his lips soft and gentle, nothing like what he'd given Morse during the… interrogation. It was sweet, honestly, the way Peter _looked_ at him.

“Should keep you in line for a few weeks or so”, Peter chuckled, rubbing his back fondly. “Certainly gave me something to think about, with the nights getting colder and all.”

“I bet it did”, Morse muttered, but smiled anyway.

They got dressed in silence, Morse getting back in the chair and desperately trying to make his clothes look like he hadn't just been shagged in them. It worked out fine, in the end, but he'd still need to change when he got back to his house for the time being.

Peter's fingers were twitching, probably itching for a fag, but he managed to restrain himself, instead focusing on putting the desks approximately where they’d been before they'd moved them around. Morse was grateful - even though the smoke would've given him something to remember Peter by, he didn't want to deal with any odd questions from the boys or the staff.

“Well. Thank you for your cooperation”, Peter said, stroking Morse's cheek before leaning in to kiss him one more time.

“Good luck with the kids, Mr Morse.”

“Thanks”, Morse said, rolling his eyes. Peter gave him a smirk and a sly look before picking his jacket up and throwing it over his shoulder.

And just like that, he was gone, out the door. Morse let out a long breath, burying his face in his hands. He knew he needed a shower, but he didn’t _want_ to wash the memory of Peter’s hands off. It’d be such a _long_ time before they’d see each other again, at least if the case kept getting more complicated with each new clue as it had up until now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days after the interrogation, Morse receives an unexpected visitor.

It had been a long day.

The boys had been driving Morse up the wall from the moment he’d walked into the classroom, but he hadn’t given them the satisfaction of seeing a reaction. If he could manage with a murderer lurking in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse or a dingy flat, he could manage with a room of teenagers, even if those teenagers were bloody insufferable little pricks, at least quite a few of them. There were quiet kids too, boys who actually wanted to learn, and Morse made sure to encourage them when they gave him a reason to. And he wasn’t all too bad at teaching, either, at this point, since he’d been doing it for such a long time.  
(It wasn’t too much unlike his normal work, what with the amount of common knowledge he had to explain to Peter when things like poetry came up in relation to a case. The thought made him chuckle.)

So Morse was more than happy to get the evening to himself. Scotch and Wagner it was, after he’d managed to put together a sad but edible sandwich for dinner. He didn’t have the energy for anything better, and honestly, he didn’t mind. The student body of Coldwater made him lose his appetite.

He was in the middle of being torn over two records, the _Symphony in C Major_ and _Tannhäuser_ , when the doorbell rang. Morse sighed - he would’ve really appreciated being left alone on a night like that. Normally, he’d be determined enough to politely decline a trip to the pub (drinking alone was more than fine by him at this point), but he couldn’t risk missing out on a clue. God knew he didn’t want to be stuck at the school for another two months. A breakthrough had to be around the corner, it was simply a matter of finding out which one.  
Morse made his way to the front door, opening it to see who it was that had broken the not-quite-peaceful solemnity of his flat for the time being. (More a house than a flat, with flower pots on the front porch, but it seemed like every place Morse made a place to live in fell… flat. Became flat and drab. Very funny.)

It was Peter Jakes. Standing at his door in his long brown coat, hanging open, with a _bright-red turtleneck underneath_ , and dark slacks and his hair just like it always was, insufferably slick and precise like he was a painting rather than a human person. His cheeks were a bit flushed, probably from the cold, _rosy_.

And Peter was standing there like he was a bloody neighbour. Just happened to stop by to check and see if Morse had some salt he could borrow.  
“What are you doing here?” Morse asked quietly. He didn’t want to make it more suspicious than it was, even though it was very unlikely that anybody would see them right now. Peter shrugged.  
“Borrowed a CID car”, Peter said. “A lot of people owe me favours.”  
“Right”, Morse said. “But what about -”  
“‘s getting cold. Let me in, and we’ll talk”, Peter said. Morse hesitated for a moment, looking out the door in both directions, before stepping aside to let Peter step in. Whatever it was about, it was better to not be seen at all. Sure, it was unlikely that anyone would’ve put Peter’s horribly flashy plainclothes fashion sense and the sharply-dressed sergeant Jakes together, but Morse having any visitors from outside the school was bound to arouse some suspicion. So he swiftly shut the door behind Peter.

The moment the door snapped shut, the sound ringing against the empty walls, Peter grabbed Morse and held on to his arm to pull him close. His lips were less than an inch away from Morse’s, his breath warm even though his cheek was cold when Morse pressed his hand against it.

When Peter closed the distance between them and kissed him, Morse returned it with a very tender sort of hunger, curious and gentle. It didn’t go further than that, instead just leaving them holding each other and trying to find a common pace for their heartbeats, the world quieting down around them.

“I missed you”, Peter mumbled, trailing his hand down Morse’s arm. Only then did Morse realise that Peter’s other hand was occupied, specifically by something he was holding under his arm.

“After three days?” Morse asked, trying to get a good look at the _something_ that Peter was carrying. It was too big to be a book or a card of some kind or an arrest warrant for him. The last thought made Morse chuckle.

“Well, _yes,_ I - what”, Peter said, quirking a brow at Morse. “Are you laughing at me?”  
“No! I mean, a bit”, Morse said, leaning in to press a kiss on Peter’s cheek. Peter immediately melted against him, giving him a crooked smile.

“Are you here to arrest me?” Morse asked. It was Peter’s turn to laugh.  
“No”, Peter said. “Just to see you. And, well…”

He pulled out the square-shaped thing he was holding, handing it to Morse. It wasn’t gift-wrapped, but there was a slightly clumsy red ribbon tied around it. Morse raised an eyebrow.

“Bellini’s _Norma_?” Morse asked, rather flabbergasted. “Is this -”

“It’s for you”, Peter said. “Figured that if I can’t keep you company, at least this opera bloke could. I hope you don’t own this one already.”

“I don’t”, Morse said. When building his collection, he’d focused on German composers, mostly, even though he did recognise Maria Callas’ talent. He marvelled at the red-and-green cover of the record for a while longer before realising Peter was still standing there.

“Thank you”, Morse said. Peter smiled, and Morse just had to lean in to press a small kiss on his cheek. Peter blushed a bit at that, and that made Morse’s heart flutter. He was beautiful like that, and Morse very much liked looking at him.

Maybe they weren’t in such a hurry, after all. Peter could stay for a while before slipping out into the night and driving back to Oxford like nothing queer had happened at all. Just a teacher spending the night at his house with a good record and a hot cup of tea. It wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Do you want tea?” Morse asked over his shoulder, while he walked to the almost-too-cosy living room to put _Norma_ with his other records. He hadn’t brought _all_ of them to the school, just his favourites, which ended up being over a dozen of them.  
“Peter?” Morse asked, turning around. Peter was just standing there, having almost-followed him, but suddenly looking hesitant, almost _nervous_. Morse didn’t know what it was about, and to be honest, he was a bit worried. Was Peter regretting his visit already?

“I - I’d like to ask you something”, Peter said, hands in his pockets, subtly looking for something. Morse looked at him, not quite following along anymore.  
“... go ahead”, Morse said. Peter swallowed, and stepped forward, and -

Peter was down on one knee. At first, Morse thought he’d just tripped over his stupidly elegant, gangly legs, but then he realised he was looking up at him, his face flushed, holding something in his hands. Holding it up to Morse.

“Morse”, Peter said.  
“What are you doing”, Morse asked, but no words came out, since his throat was sand-dry. He just mouthed them, and his face was probably as red as Peter’s was. Dear Lord. Jesus.

“I don’t have a box for you, and I don’t know what I’m proposing”, Peter said. “But I just… I’d like you to be mine. Please.”

Morse just blinked a couple of times. Peter opened his hand, and revealed what he was holding. A simple metal ring, the soft light of the room reflecting off it. It was warm when Morse took it in his hand.

“I don’t want you going along with some smart person, alright”, Peter said. “I know I’m no college professor. But I love you.”

“Uh”, Morse said. He had to blink twice as hard now, just to keep the wetness in his eyes from spilling down to his cheeks, to stop tearing up, to keep calm. The ring was innocently resting on his palm, Peter was looking up at him, and then he was actually crying.

“Morse! Oh god. I didn’t - I’m sorry”, Peter said, scrambling up from the floor. “I didn’t think this through. Sorry. It’s alright. I get it. I don’t - you can give it back, I -”

“Peter”, Morse managed to get out. His heart was about to burst, and Peter _didn’t understand_. He had been looking for that kind of love for such a long time, and when it was there, he didn’t know how to handle it. He was going to die of joy where he stood.  
“Peter.”

And now Peter was tearing up too. It was horrible, Morse didn’t want him to, it wasn’t what was supposed to happen.  
“You can’t just say something like that”, Morse choked out. Peter pressed his lips together, trying not to cry, reaching out his hand again.  
“I know, I know. It’s alright, you can give it back, I -”

“ _No_ ”, Morse said. “It’s mine. You’re mine. I love you so much.”

Peter froze. They stared at each other for a moment, and after a couple of seconds, Peter realised.

“Come here, you sappy bastard”, Peter said, his voice weak, but his arms were strong when Morse leaned in and let him wrap them around him. Morse smelled cologne and cigarettes through his tears as he pressed his face against Peter’s shoulder, and he was home.

Morse’s shirt was getting wet as well, where Peter had buried his face against him, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t want to let go, and for the first time in his life, he knew he didn’t have to. Peter wanted to be his, and he was so sure about it that Morse couldn’t push him away. And Morse, with his hoping heart, had been long gone for Peter for some time already. It felt right. He loved Peter.

“Let’s sit down”, Peter said, gently nudging at him to tell him to move. “Don’t wanna squeeze you to death.”

They stumbled to the sofa, letting go of each other as little as possible. Morse pulled Peter close, and even though they were both red-eyed, Peter was beautiful. Morse leaned in to kiss him, slow and gentle, and Peter answered in kind. It left him feeling breathless and hazy.

“Are you supposed to put it on me, or -” Morse asked, looking at the ring still in his hand. It was very simple, no carvings or ornamentations, and somehow, it was very Peter.  
“If you want to”, Peter said. Morse nodded.  
“Do you have one for yourself?”  
“Yeah”, Peter said, starting to search for it in his pocket. “Gotta let the birds know I’m off the market.”

Morse rolled his eyes a bit - they couldn’t wear them on their ring fingers, someone would notice - but appreciated the sentiment anyway. He smiled as Peter took his ring from him to give him an identical one.

“Endeavour Morse”, Peter said. Morse flinched a bit at the name - he couldn’t help it - and Peter let out an amused huff.  
“Just this once, I promise”, Peter said. “Makes it more official, you know.”  
"Fair enough”, Morse muttered. Peter gave him a small smile.

“Will you give me your hand?” Peter asked. Morse drew in a long breath, before letting it out in an even deeper sigh.  
“God, Peter. _Yes_ ”, Morse said, laying his hand on top of Peter’s to let him slide the ring on his forefinger. It was surprisingly light, and warm rather than cold after they’d held it in their hands for such a long time, but Morse did feel it. It would take some getting used to, seeing it each time he opened a door or filled in a crossword or shook hands with someone. The thought made him smile.

Morse put Peter’s ring on him, petting the back of his hand as he did so. It soon turned into him lifting Peter’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against his fingers.

“Huh”, Peter said. “You’re happy.”  
Morse didn’t know what about the words made his heart melt, but there was definitely something sweet there. Perhaps it was the way Peter was looking at him, his not-quite-dark eyes curious, almost _surprised_.  
“I just… I am”, Morse said. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ”, Peter said. “For being you.”

They did get up eventually. Morse made them tea, and Peter made himself a sandwich. He said crying made him hungry, and Morse just had to kiss the poor bastard for the mere fact that he’d decided to voice that observation aloud.

“I’ll take you to dinner once you get out of here”, Peter said, stirring his tea. “We can call it business or something. Get fancy wine and everything.”

Morse smiled into his cup, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Somehow, Peter sitting in his temporary kitchen, being a part of the place he’d been told to play house in, made it all seem like _home_. He could’ve handled the boys being insufferable for the next few _years_ , even, had it meant that all his nights would’ve been like this. But it wasn’t like he could bring a husband along to his undercover mission, especially since men sleeping with other men had only been _legal_ for a short while. It was still a nice thought.  
“Businessmen don’t usually kiss each other over the table, though”, Peter said. “That’s a problem.”

“Well, neither do newlyweds, if they’re the slightest bit considerate of everybody else in the establishment”, Morse said. “We’ll be fine. You’ll just have to kiss me after.”

“Or right now”, Peter said. Morse shook his head, walking over to Peter.  
“ _And_ right now”, he corrected. Peter shrugged, and before Morse knew it, he was pulling him down and kissing him. It was soft and sweet, and Peter’s lips tasted of Earl Grey.   

“Come to bed with me”, Morse said, his hand on Peter's shoulder. “Just for a little while, though. I don’t want you driving in the middle of the night.”

Peter lifted the teacup to his lips, downing the rest at once. Morse sat in his lap, hands on Peter’s cheeks, slowly heating up under his touch.

“If you insist”, Peter said, hands slowly sliding down Morse’s waist. “Seems right to test out the mattress you’ve got here.”

/ /  /

It was comfortable enough. Peter was gentle with him, taking the time to get him ready despite the fact they didn’t have all night, and they spent a good while cuddling after. It was a pain to get up and get dressed, when they eventually had to, since all Morse wanted was to fall asleep in Peter’s arms, holding him close. He told Peter as much.

“We’ve got all the time in the world after you’re finished here”, Peter said. “Gives you a reason to get the job done.”

Maybe it was so. Morse still couldn’t help but miss Peter the moment he walked out the door. He turned to look at Morse over his shoulder one last time, and waved to him.

His ring glinted in the porch light, and at that moment, Morse knew it was a promise he could trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic came out of nowhere in the span of a little under a month after I watched Icarus. I've been working on a bigger project for several months now, but teacher Morse is such a good concept that I just had to put other stuff on the hold for a while and get this out of my head.
> 
> Thanks for sticking along for the ride! Please comment if you enjoyed :D


End file.
